This month takes across the South of France to Italy, a drive in one day so we could have pizza in another country. Then a month of contrasts absorbing the Cinque Terre, Pisa and Rome and some very hospitable Italian holidaymakers.

As you may recall we left Amy and her friends at Girona airport and then had a couple of days on the Costa Brava. We went to Tossa de Mar first of all and on our second night there we were asked to move on by the police. We packed up and set off up the coast to Platja d’Aro. It isn’t too far away and we knew exactly where to park. We set off along the coast road which was probably a bit of a mistake at 10.00pm. We have travelled along this road before and it’s stunning during the day, but a real pain at night, especially when stuck behind Dutch holiday makers, perhaps a bit daunted by the hills and bends. We arrived at Platja d’Aro at 11.00pm and went straight to bed. 2 Belgian vans were there, one of which we have met before and I have mentioned in a previous letter (they have a big dog with big teeth named Flash). I woke up at about 4.00am and could hear voices and Flash barking. I went back to sleep and in the morning the cab doors were unlocked, someone had tried to break in again, just 2 weeks after the last time. Our new safety measures work a treat, the alarm didn’t go off because the chain was so tight between the doors they wouldn’t have been able to open the doors at all. So that’s two locks broken at the front but we foiled them.

The next morning we set off early and headed off to Figueres near Girona. The Salvador Dali museum is there and I’ve always wanted to go. The queue outside stretched for about 500 yards, it was 2.30 in the afternoon and all the remaining museum opening time would be spent standing in a queue, no thanks! We’ll have to come back. So we set off again, crossed the border into France and started looking for somewhere to stop for the night. You may remember we have joined a scheme that lets you stay on vineyards for free. We were in the Languedoc region and there were a couple nearby. We managed to find Clos de St Gorge. It looked lovely. The château buildings were set around a small square, the main one even had a statue of St George recessed high up into the wall. I eventually tracked Madame down and asked if we could stay. I’m feeling a bit more confident now with my French! She explained where to go and said she’d meet me in 5 minutes at the cellar so we could buy some wine, ‘but we don’t want any wine’ I explained also adding that the guide book states that we are under no commercial obligation to the farmers. With that I was told very firmly that we weren’t welcome and were dismissed with an angry Au Revoir! What a cow. I have since e mailed France Passion who organise the scheme and they are going to look into it. It’s such a shame as all the other ones have been so nice and friendly. So rather like getting straight back on a bicycle after falling off we decided I’d have to ask again at the next one up the road. I didn’t feel like it in case we were snubbed again. Well, what a contrast, an extremely nice young man showed us to a space in his back garden after introducing us to his pet dog Pulpi (I think that was his name) In the next half an hour 2 other motor homes pulled in behind us-1st in last to leave. (Bit like us at a party!) No hassles this time, and luckily the other 2 left before we were ready in the morning. We decided not to stop in the South of France as it’s so packed in the summer opting to head straight to Italy, this will be just as packed but we are meeting friends there. We avoided the auto routes wherever possible (except to avoid places like Montpelier) as they are so expensive. We made good progress to Aix-en-Provence. This has to have the worst signposts in the world; we couldn’t work out how to get out. We saw the auto route on a bridge beneath us but we were on a dual carriageway going in the wrong direction. Mike did a crafty u turn at the next set of lights when I realised we had been going in the right direction after all. The next U turn, still on bridge didn’t go quite as well and we had to do a 3 point turn, luckily the lights stayed red. We were followed afterwards by a police car for a short while but he must have decided we weren’t worth stopping. After that we bombed along nicely until we saw a sign ahead saying the road was closed and we were being diverted off at the next exit. We ground to an agonising crawl and finally to a stop. A kind of Friday evening on the M25 sort of stop except it was hot. Engines off, people out of cars chatting, I’m sure you can picture it. Well it turns out the road is closed due to a forest fire, the rumours are we’re going to be stuck all night. 3 coach loads of firemen managed to get through a gap in the lanes and that was it for a couple of hours. Then suddenly we were off! Back up to 70, hurrah. They had managed to extinguish the flames in the central reservation and right next to the carriageway but it still was blazing away in the hills. We now know that these fires may be deliberate, what is the matter with some people in the world? We were making such good progress Mike wanted to keep going and have his first Italian meal in Italy. Sadly just after we passed a possible stopping off point the traffic slowed up again. After another long delay we slowly drove passed a burnt out lorry. We crossed the border into Italy at about 7.30pm, with stunning views either side.

Throughout some of Europe you can sleep in your motor home in special car parks. In France they’re called an aire; the Italian equivalent is called a sosta. They are usually free or you have to pay a small fee for the overnight stop. We have a French guide book to all these places and what the amenities are at each one but limited understanding of what it all means. You are restricted from many ordinary car parks with height barriers. The book told us there were two sostas in San Remo in Italy. The attendant was uncharacteristically rude at the first one as we didn’t speak Italian, so we didn’t stay out of principle. We couldn’t find the other and wearily made our way to the next at a place called Imperia. By now it was 10pm but Mike still wanted his Italian meal so we headed off into town. The Italians here were delightful; we enjoyed a totally delicious pizza and steak for our next course. Judging by the very strange taste it is unlikely this was beef-any of you that have been to that part of the world may have some idea what it probably was. But we haven’t fancied steak since, just in case.

The next morning we got up early and headed for another sosta at Diano Marina. What a fantastic place. It was just like a proper camp site but cheap- €8.00 a night! It was absolutely packed but we managed to squeeze in to a good position right next to a shower. Because this site is for motor homes which are obviously fully equipped, extras like showers are a real bonus. What a shower this was. It was a single cubicle like a mini shed with a sink, mirror, shower tray and a couple of corks for plugs. The hose, with showerhead was draped over a hook from the ceiling, you had to remove the plastic tube from the tap over the sink and attach the shower pipe in its place. It was FREEZING.

There were only Italians on the site plus a couple of Germans, no Brits. We got on extremely well with our neighbours who gave us lots of tips on Italy for motor homes. (After we had got over the initial hiccup involving our alarm going off for a whole morning while we were out, and once we had worked out a kind of ‘Euro speak’.) Diano Marina itself is a very pleasant, well established seaside resort. We stayed for three nights so Mike could get on and do some paperwork but our new Italian friends managed to distract him totally and we ended up having a seaside break with them showing us around. This included an evening meal of pizzas, followed by ice creams and go-karting; a delicious pasta lunch (the fact that we had already had lunch did not deter them in any way!) and an afternoon on the beach, after all that lunch. The beach was absolutely tiny and completely covered in row upon row of umbrellas and chairs. Romeo and his wife Daniella had saved a space right in the middle without paying. There was just enough room to squeeze in ourselves and our towels.

We left the following morning and continued along the coast road, this is also known as the Via Aurelia (S1) the first ever main road in Italy, built by Julius Caesar. This took us through mile after mile of seaside towns and resorts, all very prettily perched along the steep slopes into the sea. Our next sosta was at a place called Bonassola on the edge of the Cinque Terre National Park. This was absolutely beautiful countryside, steep mountainous slopes going straight into the sea, very dramatic. Tiny villages looking as though they were clinging on to the slopes. I decided we needed to leave the Via Aurelia and look for a coast road. I didn’t want us to miss Bonassola and not all the roads are marked on the map. The tiny little road snaked down the hillside; it was one car width wide with no barriers and sheer slopes beneath. Some hair pin bends were so acute we had to do three point turns to get round the corners. There were no passing places and fortunately no other cars! We were getting very anxious about the potential size of the roads at the bottom, but we made it through to the sea front ok. There was only one problem the next stretch of road was through a tunnel so narrow it was controlled by traffic lights. We were at the head of a queue and everyone else had switched off their engines and were out of their cars. I had seen some sort of warning sign for motor homes but couldn’t understand it. We waited for about ten minutes, enough time for the tension to really start to mount. The lights turned green and we gingerly edged forward. The tunnels lasted for about a mile in total we got through to the next village but it was just a campsite and a sea front, we had no choice but to turn left back inland, up the hill and back to where we had started. Our little detour had taken 2 hours. Feeling a little shaken by the experience we still had to press on and find the sosta. Luckily Bonassola was well signposted from now on but just as we were weaving our way back down the hill again, same type of road as before I realised from re reading the book that it only had 9 places, uh oh. Fortunately there were three places left; one of which was big enough for us. Thank goodness, my guts were starting to turn into garters.

We had a very pleasant evening strolling around Bonassola and sampling a couple of the small street cafes and bars. It felt like we were part of a film set as many of the houses were painted with coloured paint and had facades of shutters and windows painted on as well.

We set off the next morning still following the S1 to Pisa. I had been there as a child and wondered what it would be like 25 years on. We were not disappointed, it was absolutely wonderful. Everything still very traditional and we were able to walk up the tower. This was a bonus as it was shut in 1990 for restoration work and must have opened fairly recently. Unfortunately I left the new film in my bag at the bottom, accidentally bringing another film case with Mike’s Brufen in, not much use for taking pictures.

After one very pleasant day and night in Pisa we set off towards Rome. We stopped at a sosta on the way in a seaside resort called Marina de Montalto di Castro (number 22 on the map) As well as having an unfeasibly long name it also had a strange, rundown feel to it that wasn’t unpleasant. Our cooling dip in the sea was disappointing as it was very polluted, you couldn’t see the bottom. After the swim my skin was so itchy I decided to head back for a shower. Discovering that the keys were no longer in my pocket I turned back to Mike wondering if he had played a prank. He hadn’t, so we had a very scary 10 minutes searching, back to the van, still there, back to the beach, still there and then I spotted them lying on the sand. What a relief. Our security is so good now we’d have to smash windows to get inside the van.

After two nights we set off early for Rome. We found a campsite near the ring road on the north east of the city. It is very expensive but has all the amenities. The first day we got here we went straight into town to have a wander and get a feel for the place. Absolutely beautiful. We took in the Vittoriano monument, the coliseum and the Roman Forum. Everywhere you looked there was stunning architecture from all different periods of history.

As we were a bit fed up with pizza we had heard that there are 3 Indian restaurants in Rome (sorry I guess we just can’t help ourselves) Anyway, on the way, (after leaving a cash point) walking along the river we were stopped by a suited man in a car wanting to know where he was on his map. He explained that he was French and worked in marketing for a clothing manufacturer of off the peg clothes and was in Rome for an exhibition. We had noted that he had an Italian accent and was driving an Italian registered car. He then explained that he wasn’t selling us anything but if we liked fashion he would like us to have a silk T shirt and ladies leather coat (conveniently bagged and wrapped on the back seat.) They were Valentino, not off the peg then. As he wasn’t selling them to us could we give him some money for fuel as he was nearly out and had no money. A quick discreet peek at his dials reassured us that he had a full tank. Mike, with perfect ease laughed and said we ourselves were looking for a cash point and had no money. He quickly raced off up the road. If anyone has any idea what this scam was about we’d love to know.

The 1st Indian was a disaster; it wouldn’t have looked out of place in Delhi. It was in a dark corner of a dank little square with drop outs loafing around with the inevitable dogs and broken glass littering the floor. We walked on to the next one which was very stylish indeed, and also very tasty. Having enjoyed a delicious meal we then decided to head back as we were at risk of missing the last train back. We got to the station an hour too late (the last one was at 10.30.) The staff at the station unhelpfully suggested we get a taxi (no taxi rank). After about 5 minutes a tram came along so Mike went and asked the driver. He was overheard by a Scotsman who hadn’t heard of where we were staying but he advised us to get on the tram anyway as he had a feeling our bus would be at the end of the line. Fortunately there was a bus there with our village name displayed at the front. What a relief. We finally collapsed into bed at around 1.30am, absolutely exhausted. I wonder if Romans do as much as this in one day?

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